“No, sir,” said Tom.
“Where’s the brown pony?” said Mr Grant, abruptly.
“Cut ’is fetlock, sir,” said Tom slowly.
“And the new horse?”
“’Tain’t ’alf broke yet, sir.”
“Ah! that’s bad.—It wouldn’t do to take an unbroken charger, Charley; for although you are a pretty good rider, you couldn’t manage him, I fear. Let me see.”
“Please, sir,” said the groom, touching his hat, “I’ve borrowed the miller’s pony for ’im, and ’e’s sure to be ’ere in ’alf a hour at farthest.”
“Oh, that’ll do,” said Mr Grant; “you can soon overtake us. We shall ride slowly out, straight into the prairie, and Harry will remain behind to keep you company.”
So saying, Mr Grant mounted his horse and rode out at the back gate, followed by the whole cavalcade.
“Now this is too bad!” said Charley, looking with a very perplexed air at his companion. “What’s to be done?”